Two Weeks of My Life
by Sheepchi
Summary: Very few people have ever surprised me.  But, somehow, this Muggle girl had managed to do exactly that.  Tom RiddleOC
1. Pulled in From the Cold

**Two Weeks of My Life**

**Rating: T**

**Summary:** Very few people have ever surprised me. But, somehow, this Muggle girl had managed to do exactly that. Tom Riddle/OC

**Author's notes:** Okay, so some (probably very, _very_ few—I am a realist) have probably noticed that I've taken "Someone Who" and "Waiting Somewhere" off. They'll be back up later; I'm going to rewrite "Someone Who" and I didn't want "Waiting Somewhere" to just sit around. Anyway, this is going to be sort of the start of the whole series. Erm… yeah. So, here it is.

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, I'd be a rich, brilliant British woman. And I'm not. Obviously.

* * *

Never in my life could I remember being so cold. Not even the winters at the orphanage had put such a chill in my flesh. I cursed Burke under my breath for sending me out on this fool's errand—as if I'd find anything of worth in this tiny Muggle village.

I pulled my thin cloak tighter around me, though it did little to warm me. Burke had neglected to mention that I'd be traveling into the coldest parts of the country. With all of the Muggles around, I didn't dare use magic to relieve my chill.

The cold was getting to be far too much; my limbs were numbing and I was beginning to feel that I could not continue my journey. I found a bench on the sidewalk I'd been traveling along. It wouldn't get me out of the cold, but at least I'd have a chance to rest.

I all but fell onto the bench. As soon as I had landed upon its surface, my surroundings slipped into darkness.

Warmth flooded my body as I drifted back into consciousness. I couldn't say what it was or where it came from, but at the moment, I didn't really care. I was lying on a soft bed, covered with multiple quilts. A woman's voice drifted into the room.

* * *

"Really, John, I'll be fine," she said. "You go on to work; I'll take care of him."

Footsteps crossed the floor to the bed. A cool hand rested of my forehead.

I slid open one eye just enough to see her torso. Judging by her attire, my current caretaker was a Muggle.

She made a tutting sound with her tongue and walked back out of the room.

When the sound of her footsteps died away, I sat up, taking in my surroundings.

I had been right; the room I was in was devoid of any trappings of the magical world. The décor was plain, drab, even.

I couldn't help but sneer at the place. Somehow, the one room managed to embody all of the things I liked least of the Muggle world.

"Ah, awake now, are we?" the woman's voice said.

My eyes snapped to the doorway. A girl who must have been around my age, leaned against the doorframe. She walked over to me and placed a hand on my forehead once again.

"Still have a bit of a fever, though," she said.

It was a struggle not to pull away from the Muggle girl's touch, but I managed. She withdrew her hand and sat on the end of the bed, watching me intently.

"I found you lying on a bench last night," she said, as though I didn't know where I'd been. "Thought you'd frozen to death. You ought to find yourself a warmer cloak. You could've died."

I found a quiet irony in her statement, but didn't bother voicing it. This girl wouldn't have been capable of understanding it.

She busied herself around the room, prodding at the fire, pouring water into a large basin, adjusting the quilts and the like; I took several moments to examine her appearance.

The girl was petite—she would probably only come up to my shoulder if we stood side by side. She had long dark red hair tied into a neat plait that fell down her back. Her face was pretty, I suppose, with big grey eyes framed by long, dark lashes. Her build was that of a sturdy, working girl, which is what I assumed she was.

"You're still a bit ill," she said, wiping her hands on a dark grey apron tied around her waist. "You'll need to stay here for a bit." She looked around the room, frowning at it. "I know it's not much, but it's better than that bench we found you on. Oh, and my name's Rebekah, by the way. You can call me Becky, if you like."

I didn't answer her: I was too bust considering what she had said about my having to stay in this Muggle house for any substantial length of time. The prospect wasn't a welcome one.

"Don't talk much, do you?" she said, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

I spoke to her for the first time since our meeting. "No," I said. "Not when there's no need."

I had thought that her smile would fade, but it didn't. If anything, her grin broadened.

"I suppose that's reasonable," she said. "Just let me know if you need anything. I'll be in the next room."

Rebekah turned to leave; she stopped when she reached the door.

"Before I go, what's your name?"

I frowned. She stood in the doorway, watching me, waiting for me to answer her question. Much as I dislike the idea of a Muggle knowing my identity and despite my every instinct telling me otherwise, I decided that there was little risk in giving this girl my real name.

"I'm Tom. Tom Riddle."

* * *

**

* * *

** Okay, so that's chapter one; I hope you enjoyed it. I'll get back to this when I can. Things will be hectic on my end, but I'm really fond of this idea, so I'll try to get back to it sooner than later. Feedback and criticism both are accepted and appreciated. Let me hear from you. Much love. 


	2. A Look Inside

**Two Weeks of My Life**

**Summary:**

**Author's notes:** Well, I'm all moved in to my new place. Thanks for your patience. I'm sorry this chapter took so long— I wasn't satisfied with it, and I'm not going to post something that I'm not happy with (but I'm sure you know how that is). I'm currently working on my outline for this piece; I know how long I want it to be and I know more or less what I want to happen, it's just a matter of putting it all together. Anyway, like I said, thanks for sticking with me. I hope you enjoy the chapter.

**Chapter Two: A Look Inside  
**

* * *

* * *

My second day at the Muggle house began with the sound of two voices yelling from the level below. One of them I recognized as my female caretaker, but the other was completely unfamiliar.

"Dragging in every poor soul on the streets, Becky, we can't take in any freeloaders, I've told you—"

"So I should have just left him to die, then?" the girl said heatedly.

"You should have been more careful!" I heard the new voice return just a furiously. "Didn't it occur to you that this man might be _dangerous_?"

"Please, he was nearly dead when I found him. He's too sick to be dangerous now."

They continued shouting for quite a time—I had long since lost interest in their quarrel when I heard footsteps stomping up the stairs to my room.

The Muggle girl entered red faced and carrying a tray heavy with food.

"Breakfast," she said shortly, setting the tray down on the bedside table. She made to leave, but seemed to change her mind at the last moment.

"My brother, John, might be in to see you later," she said, frowning. "He can be a bit of an ass, but don't let it bother you—it's just his way."

"I gathered that," I yawned, picking at my food.

She arched an eyebrow in curiosity.

"The two of you don't argue quietly," I told her curtly.

A humorless laugh escaped her. "No, I imagine we don't. But you think we'd learn to tone it down; we do it often enough"

"The two of you don't get along?"

"You could say that, yes."

I didn't find this information surprising: most of the children in the orphanage I grew up in didn't get on well with each other; they certainly didn't get along with me. I was, however, curious as to why this girl and her brother struggled so.

She wouldn't have told me the details of her relationship with her brother had I asked her, I knew. Fortunately, I need not ask her. All it took was a few seconds peering into her large grey eyes for me to discover all that I cared to.

Images from a funeral flashed through my mind. A pretty little redheaded girl sobbing into her brother's shoulder; a young boy fighting back tears…. The scene morphed: the same little girl sat in the couch, staring at her hands while her older brother scolded her. Another scene appeared, and the girl, now a teenager, was being pulled away from the train station by her now grown-up brother.

The visions faded; grey eyes stared into mine apprehensively. I hurriedly broke eye contact with her.

"Er.… yes, well, like I said," she began, still eyeing me uncomfortably, "he'll probably drop in later today. I shouldn't think he'd stay too long."

I had expected her to leave the room, as she had started to before mentioning her brother for the first time, but she seemed to have decided against it. She sat down in a chair placed along the wall, staring at me.

For some reason, her gaze unnerved me. It felt somehow as if she'd known that I had looked into her mind and was taking the opportunity to do the same to me. This was, of course, impossible, as Muggles were incapable of performing Legilimency, but all the same, I did my best to avoid her stare.

"I was wondering," she said, after a long silence, "what were you doing out on that bench? Not many people come through here even when the weather's good; I can't remember anyone visiting in the middle of winter before. What'd bring someone like you out here?"

I turned my eyes back in her direction. She was leaning forward in the chair, her elbows propped on her knees, waiting expectantly for my answer.

Apart from being convinced that she had no business knowing about my work, I was also concerned by the way she had phrased her question: 'someone like me.' Judging from her expression, she didn't have the slightest idea that she'd said anything remotely alarming. Maybe she hadn't; 'someone like me' could have been referring to a traveler. All the same, I didn't care for the question.

"I hardly think that concerns you," I said.

The girl tilted her head to one side, watching me. My response hadn't seemed to perturb her.

"What about a family?" she asked. "You got any family?"

"What does it matter?" I responded tersely. Her line of questioning was not to my liking.

She shrugged. "I just though you might want us to let your family know that you're ill. Wouldn't want them to worry about you."

"Rest your mind, then," I hissed. "No one is missing me."

"Oh," the girl whispered. "I'm sorry." She rose to leave.

Part of me wanted to call her back; tell her that I neither needed nor wanted her pity, but I didn't. She'd stopped asking questions and was leaving me be—there was no reason to show her cruelty at that time. And I had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that she _had_ done me a favor by bringing me into her home.

No, I'd allow her to give me pity this once.

* * *

I recognized the girl's brother the moment he entered the room, even though I had never met him. He made his way loudly up the stairs and, when he reached the door of the room, wrenched it open without bothering to knock.

His face was quite unlike the boy I had seen in the Muggle girl's memories; he had all the appearances of having aged before his time, though something of the child still lingered about him. His dark eyes were narrowed in my direction and a frown creased his visage.

"You're our guest, then?" he asked, looking me up and down.

He was a very large man, broad shouldered and tall—he'd probably used his physique to intimidate others his whole life, and I surmised that he intended to do the same with me. Already, I hated him.

I met his eyes calmly. "Unless your sister keeps a collection of invalids that you're unaware of, yes."

From his expression, I gathered that my feelings of dislike were mutual.

"Listen you," he said, his voice dropping to a low growl, "I told Becky I'd let you stay, but I swear, if you do anything—anything at all—that makes me think you're up to something, you're out, you understand?"

I let his question go unanswered, which seemed to irritate him further.

"I've got a few things I want to ask you," he said shifting his gaze away from me.

"Such as?" I questioned lightly.

"Where did you come from and why are you here?"

I looked up at the ceiling of the room, examining it briefly before saying, "I really don't care to answer either of those." I met his gaze again. "I suppose you're just out of luck."

A look of mingled shock and anger crossed the Muggle man's face. For a moment, he looked as though he wanted to try and hit me; I think he may well have attempted to had his sister not entered the room at that moment, once again bearing a tray of food.

She looked from her brother to me, before timidly saying, "Is there a problem?"

"No," the Muggle man answered her immediately. "Not at all."

He threw a dark look in my direction before making his way out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Like I said," the girl sighed, "he's a bit of an ass."

* * *

**Author's notes:** Yeah, so, that's chapter two; I hope you enjoyed it. There might be a bit of a delay for chapter three—I'm starting classes is a couple of days. We'll just see how it goes, I suppose. Hopefully by the next chapter I'll have my outline finished; that'll definitely speed up the process. Well, like I said, thanks for the patience and please let me know what you think. 


	3. Help

**Two Weeks of My Life**

**Summary: **Very few people have ever surprised me. But, somehow, this Muggle girl had managed to do exactly that. Tom Riddle/OC

**Author's notes: ** Well, I had made some progress on my outline, took months off, and then looked at the outline and decided that I hated it. But I do, at least, know how many chapters I want and how I want the story to end, so that's good. Expect a total of 14 chapters and an epilogue for this fic. I can't make any promises concerning updates, but I'll do what I can. Thanks for reading; thanks for reviewing.

**DISCLAIMER:** I'm running out of creative ways to say it, but I still don't own _Harry Potter_.

**Chapter Three: ****Help**

* * *

* * *

Morning came on my third day with the Muggles, and I found myself feeling somewhat better. Neither of them were anywhere in sight when I awoke; I took the opportunity to explore my surroundings.

Since my arrival, I had been confined to the one room. Until that day, I hadn't had the energy to pull myself out of the bed, let alone wander out of the room. I rose slowly and unsteadily to my feet, one hand clutching the headboard so that I might keep my balance. My head spun from the movement; I allowed myself to adjust to the sensation for a few moments before guiding myself along the wall of the room out towards the hallway.

I managed to ever so slowly make my way downstairs, pausing several times along the way to regain my strength. What I learned from my trek to the bottom of the staircase did not bode well: my health may well be improving, but there was a long way for me to go yet, which meant that I could not yet leave the Muggles' house. At the bottom of the stairs, I slid into a sitting position, resting my head on my arms.

"Tom?"

My name sounded odd falling from the lips of the Muggle girl. I lifted my head to see her kneeling at the base of the stairs.

She slid one of her arms underneath mine and half-pulled me to my feet. Patiently, she led me to a couch where we both sat. The girl watched me, her head tilted to one side.

"If you wanted to come downstairs, you should have just called for me," she said softly. "I would have helped you."

My temper immediately rose. "I do not _need_ your help."

The girl scoffed. "I suppose you were just taking a nap at the bottom of the stairs for a change of pace, then?"

I felt my face flush—something that it had not done in years.

"I understand that you'd rather I just stayed out of your way," she sighed, "but you're still sick. Right now, you _do_ need my help."

I offered her no response; she seemed not to expect one. The Muggle rose to her feet and.

"I'm making breakfast, if you want any," she said.

Reluctantly, I murmured that I would like something to eat. A small smile tugged at her lips; she had taken my acquiescence as a victory, which, little as I wanted to admit it, it was.

* * *

After the girl had left the room to fetch the food, I allowed myself to rest—more than I had intended: I had fallen asleep by the time she returned. A plate of food was resting on an end table near my head when I woke up. The girl eyed me curiously as I slowly sat up.

"You really exhausted yourself coming down those stairs," she said softly. "I don't know if you'll be able to make it back upstairs today, not by yourself anyway. And I certainly wouldn't be able to do anything if you were to fall."

She picked up the plate and placed it in my hands before taking a seat on the other end of the couch, moving my feet out of her way.

"Don't touch me," I hissed at her.

She ignored me, leaning back on the couch and closing her eyes.

"John is out for the day," she said, after a lengthy pause.

I gave her no response, half hoping that silence would deter her from further conversation.

I had no such luck.

"He still disapproves of your staying here," she continued.

"So let me leave."

The girl shook her head. "You're still too sick. You weren't even able to make it down the stairs on your own; there's no way you're leaving here yet. John will just have to get over it."

Moments passed in silence; I felt her large, grey eyes watching me during the quiet.

"What?" I demanded, glaring at her.

"You aren't eating," she said simply, gesturing to the food.

It was true. The plate of food was just as full as it had been when she had first handed it to me.

"What difference does that make to you?"

A sigh escaped her. "If you don't eat, you won't get better."

Reluctantly, I began eating. The girl continued to watch me, eyes filled with curiosity.

"You don't take very good care of yourself, do you?" she asked, tugging absently at the end of her auburn braid.

I glanced over at her. "What do you mean? If I hadn't come to this place, my health would be perfect. I take care of myself." _More than you know_, I added silently.

She shook her head. "You don't eat well. Your cheeks are hollow—that can't be just from this one sickness."

"What I do is none of your business," I snapped.

"No, I suppose it isn't," she said, leaning back once more.

We lapsed into silence again; for my part, I wanted things to remain quiet. Every time this girl spoke to me, she seemed to get further past my defenses. She wasn't afraid of me—she didn't know what I could do to her. But, even then, I had grown so accustomed to being feared by those around me that her tranquil demeanor made me uneasy.

I risked a glance over at her. Her eyes were shut.

"Are you done eating?" she said, eyes still closed.

I shoved the empty plate in her direction. She scrutinized it and, apparently satisfied with how well I had eaten, carried it back to the kitchen wordlessly.

"You said you didn't have any family," her voice called from the kitchen. "Is there anyone else that we ought to let know you're here? Maybe someone you'd rather stay with?"

"No," I said. "I told you, there's no one to call for."

"Not even some friends?" she asked, returning to her perch on the end of the couch.

"No."

"No one?"

"How many times do I have to tell you? No."

She smiled sadly. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry."

"Then why are you prying?" I asked tersely.

"I thought I ought to know a bit more about you," she said, unperturbed. "After all, you are staying in my house. Doesn't that give me some right to be curious?"

"Not really, no."

The girl laughed—a sound I'd not yet heard from her, and I didn't know what to make of it.

"You're absolutely determined to hate me, aren't you?" she asked, a smile still spread across her face.

I didn't verbalize an answer, but she seemed to know what I was thinking.

"I wonder what happened to you?" she said, narrowing her large eyes. "To hate someone you barely know for no reason…."

I felt pity radiating from her again; this time I refused to accept it. "You've been prying into my business ever since you brought me here. You won't let me leave, even though I've said_ multiple times_ that I want to. What reason do I have to be polite to you?"

The girl shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I've been trying to help you."

"Or have you been trying to prove something to your brother?"

I smirked as I watched her eyes widen and her jaw drop; I'd finally won against her.

She looked away from me, narrowing her eyes again. "I can't say that isn't true," she admitted softly. She met my eyes again. "But I _am_ still trying to help you. I want you to get better."

"Then leave me alone."

The girl let out an exasperated sigh. "Lucky we found you—no doctor in his right mind would put up with such a contrary patient."

She stood and crossed the room. "However you may feel about me now," she said as she left, "you should really try to get to know me. I'm really not all that bad. Who knows? You might even like me a little."

"I doubt it," I mumbled as she disappeared around the door frame.

I didn't know how long I'd be staying with her, but I knew that I wouldn't try to learn anything about this girl. It would only lead me to trouble.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** So that only took me about four forevers…. Sorry. I really had a hard time with this chapter—I got so frustrated that I scratched the outline, like I said earlier. But I have been revising the outline. Hopefully I'll be able to get chapters out in a timely manner (which translates to "hopefully I can stop being such an anal retentive perfectionist). Anyway, thanks to all of you who are sticking with me; keep reading and reviewing.

Much love.


	4. Past Songs

**Two Weeks of My Life**

**Summary:** Very few people have ever surprised me. But, somehow, this Muggle girl had managed to do exactly that. Tom Riddle/OC

**Author's Note: **So there's been some work done on the outline (hooray). Unfortunately, the work was done for the end of the outline. Go figure. Anyway, we're going to be learning a bit more about Becky in this chapter. Fun fun. Sorry this is taking so long—it seems to be getting more difficult as I get into the middle chapters. But, after next week, there's a bit of a lull in my schedule, so I should be able to get another chapter up before mid-March. We'll see, yes? Thanks for sticking with me.

_Italics_ type indicates memories.

**Chapter Four: Past Songs**

* * *

Getting back upstairs that evening was only slightly less difficult than coming down them earlier that morning, but, as before, I managed it on my own. I was back in bed and asleep by the time the girl's brother returned. 

When I woke, it was long before dawn, and the Muggle girl was asleep in a chair not far from my bed, no doubt in an effort to see that I made no more unaccompanied trips up or down the stairs.

Her long hair was loosed from its plait for the first time since I had seen her; strands of it fell across her face, obscuring her eyes, as her head lolled on one of her shoulders. The dim light made her seem ghostly pale. Her pink lips were slightly parted and her chest rose and fell almost imperceptibly with each slow, steady breath. I noted the black circles under her eyes and the worry lines already forming on her brow. In her sleep, the girl looked frail.

Seeing her looking so vulnerable made my temper rise: this fragile thing _dared_ to give me orders—to _pity_ me. What gave her the gall to do that to me?

Slowly, I pulled myself out of the bed and got to my feet. I stepped in front of the chair, examining her more closely. She shifted slightly in her sleep, but gave no indication that she was aware of my approach. The sleep she was in was deep enough that I could easily probe into her mind—discover some of her secrets in a passive-aggressive form of revenge.

I reached out with one hand and brushed my fingertips against her forehead, pushing pieces of her hair out of my way. Her brow furrowed slightly at my touch, but she still didn't wake. As my hand rested on her forehead, I closed my eyes and slipped into her memories.

* * *

_The girl was, again, asleep in the chair, though she appeared some ten or twelve years younger: her entire form fit into the seat, curled up with her legs pulled close to her body. Her face rested on an open book that was precariously perched on her knees. The bed was empty and the light was still on; it seemed as if she had only recently dozed off. _

_Through the room's open door, one could see the darkness that spread through the rest of the house. Everyone must have been asleep. _

_The thud of a book falling to the floor caught me off guard. Turning to see where the noise had come from, I noticed that the girl had changed position: the book had been tossed to the floor and her head and arms were now draped across her knees. Clicking my tongue In disapproval, I stepped over and looked at the spine of the volume she had discarded._

_A copy of Grimm's fairytales. _

_Another noise—this one coming from the lower level of the house—reached my ears. __A door downstairs creaked open.__ Someone, it seemed, had broken in to the house. I glanced at the girl again; she was still fast asleep._

_I could hear footsteps coming up the stairs, and I wasn't the only one: a light flipped on in one of the nearby rooms, and a man I had never seen before stepped into the hallway._

_He was tall and dark, like the girl's brother, but his eyes were the same shade of grey as the girl's; I assumed him to be their father. _

_When he noticed the light on in the girl's room, he rushed inside, making straight for his daughter. He shook her shoulders slightly to wake her._

_"Becky! Becky, wake up!"_

_The girl made an incoherent sound as she returned to consciousness._

_"Wassgoinon?" she yawned_

_Her father promptly shushed her and switched off the light to the room._

_The footsteps were in the hallway now; it was nearly certain that the intruders were aware that one or more of the inhabitants of the ho__use was aware of their presence. I saw the girl's hands clinch her father's sleeve; she pulled herself as close to him as she could, eyes wide with fear._

_One of the intruders stepped into the bedroom across the hall. __They could be heard rifling through the drawers and closet, searching for who could say what. A third figure, someone small—it must have been the girl's brother—crept into the room.__ Their father immediately pressed a finger to his lips, signaling for the boy to stay quiet. _

_It was useless; the__ thieves__ had seen the light in the room, seen that it had been rapidly shut off. They were approaching the room, treading as quietly as they could. _

_The father was motioning for the children to hide; the girl's brother grabbed her arm and pulled her into the closet just as the intruders stepped into the room._

_I could hear the slightest whimper from the girl when the light in the room flipped on again. If I concentrated, I could see her, kneeling on the floor, trying to get a glimpse of what was occurring through the tiny gap between the bottom of the door and the floor._

_The intruders were speaking harshly with the father, but they sounded to me as though their mouths were full of cotton—the girl's memory of what was said was clearly unreliable. I could sense her anxiety. She wanted to come out and be held by her father; she thought, against all reason, that she would be safer with him._

_Neither of the thieves noticed the closet door barely cracking open; a large grey eye peered out through the crack._

_The first thing it saw was the girl's father being gunned down. Her brother's hand stifled her scream._

_Unaware of the presence of the children, the two thieves left the house with their plunder.__ Their footsteps faded, and the children came out of their hiding spot._

_The girl rushed immediately to her father's side, tears pouring from her eyes. Her brother looked as though he would soon be sick._

_"We have to call the police," he said, as calmly as he could manage._

_His sister didn't move; he ran down the stairs to make the necessary phone call._

_The girl sat in the floor, weeping over her father's lifeless form._

* * *

_The room around me contorted into swirls of color.__ When all righted itself, I saw that I was now at a train station. The girl, who now appeared to be about fifteen, was making her way to the ticket booth, glancing over her shoulder every so often.__ She held her luggage—a lone, tattered bag—close to her. There was a livid purple bruise under her right eye; her hand flew to it whenever a passer-by tried to make eye contact with her._

_"Becky!" a voice called. Gasping, the girl turned to see her brother racing towards her._

_She turned and raced to the ticket counter, her brother closing in._

_He caught her by the arm long before she reached the counter—not that it mattered: there was already a long queue forming at there. _

_"What the hell are you doing?" he said through gritted teeth. _

_Rather than offer him an answer, the girl tried to break free of her brother's grasp, but it was to no avail—he was larger and stronger than she. Struggle as she might against him, she could not prevent him pulling her away from the station._

_"No," she choked through the tears that had begun leaving wet tracks down her cheeks. "I can't stay, John! I can't take it."_

_Before she could get another word out, her brother struck her._

_Her mouth hung open in shock. "You want me to go back there?" she demanded. "I can't believe this—after what they did to me, to you!"_

_"Shut up, Becky, just shut UP!"_

_His hand flew across her face again._

_As he saw the girl's eyes tear up, he pulled her into a hug. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He held her at arm's length looking at her desperately. "There's nowhere else for us to go, Becky. There's no one out there to take care of us—if you run away, you'll never make it."_

_She shook her head. "I don't believe that," she said, wiping furiously at her eyes. Once again, she gathered her things and tried to force her way past her brother._

_He had no patience for her this time: her grabbed her arms and pulled her away from the counter, presumably towards the home she had left._

* * *

I opened my eyes again and saw the girl, still asleep, but with something of a pained look on her face. She shifted in the chair, pulling her knees in close to her. When I looked closer, I saw the ghosts of tears lingering around her eyelids—she must have seen all that I saw even in her sleep.

_Good_, I thought. She deserved whatever discomfort had been caused her.

As I pulled my hand away from her, I felt an overwhelming exhaustion—apparently, my body was still too weak to cope properly with my using magic. I fell back onto the bed, still scrutinizing the girl in the chair.

Even after I had hurt her, even knowing how fragile she was, this girl made me angry. I wasn't able to explain it, but I didn't like it.

It struck me then how unusual that was. Very few people could truly rouse my anger, and the few who did were dead not long after they had done so. But this girl...without trying, without having the faintest notion of who I was, she was able to force me into reacting to her—the calm veneer that served me so well with others was useless with her.

I frowned at her as I pulled the covers of the bed back over myself. This girl was no good for me: the sooner I left this place, the better.

* * *

**Author's Note:** That didn't take nearly as long as the last chapter (thank God). The middle bits are not easy to write—not that I should have expected them to be. Anyway, do try to stick around for the rest of the story. There are ten more chapters and an epilogue yet to come; I promise it'll be interesting. For those of you who have stuck with me through this, I thank you.

Much love.


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